"I knowed it—I knowed it," he chuckled, feebly brandishing his stick, "such a poor old stapil as 'tis, all eat up wi' rust. Every time I come 'ere a-gatherin' watercress, I come in an' give un a look, an' watch un rustin' away, an' rustin' away; I'll see un go fust, arter all, so I will!" and, with another nod at the staple, he turned, and hobbled out into the sunshine.
And seeing how, despite his brave showing, he labored to carry the heavy basket, I presently took it from him, disregarding his protests, and set off by his side; yet, as we went, I turned once to look back at the deserted hut.
"You 'm thinkin' 'tis a tur'ble bad place at night?" said the old man.
"On the contrary," I answered, "I was thinking it might suit a homeless man like me very well indeed."
"D'ye mean—to live there?" exclaimed the Ancient.
"Yes," said I.
"Then you bean't afraid o' the ghost?"
"No," I answered.
"P'r'aps you be one o' they fules as think theer bean't no ghosts?"
"As to that," I answered, "I don't know, but I don't think I should be much afraid, and it is a great blessing to have some spot on this unfriendly world that we can call 'home'—even though it be but a hut, and haunted."